


stowaway

by boundinshallows (museme87)



Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Military, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Developing Relationship, Fluff and Smut, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Romantic Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-15
Updated: 2020-06-15
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:15:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24742924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/museme87/pseuds/boundinshallows
Summary: In which Tommy is Alfie's unofficial "port boyfriend," and he's about to be deployed again.
Relationships: Tommy Shelby/Alfie Solomons
Comments: 12
Kudos: 116





	stowaway

**Author's Note:**

> A gift fic for my wonderful friend Koi, who puts up with my gentle bullying like a champ. She expressed interest in a military AU where Alfie and Tommy would hook-up when Alfie came to port and on a separate occasion liked the idea in this prompt: 
> 
> "How to seduce your lover.  
> 1\. Straddle them, they'll think it's sexy  
> 2\. Kiss them, They will forget about your other mischievous acts  
> 3\. After you leave them breathless, slip your hands under their hoodie and graze your fingers on their lower abdomen, very exciting  
> 4\. Now take there hoodie off, you're getting to the good part  
> 5\. Take the hoodie and run like the hoodie snatching gremlin you"
> 
> I couldn't manage adorable, playful fluff, but I think this bittersweet, romantic fluff isn't a bad substitute. 
> 
> A huge thank you to MintJam for the speedy beta! <3

With a fistful of soft, grey jersey, Tommy tugs Alfie through the doorway and turns them in an uncoordinated tangle that ends with the door slamming shut from the kick of a boot. He finds himself crowded up in the corner, Alfie’s plush lips sucking hot kisses into his neck and whiskers tickling his skin. It’s enough of a distraction that Tommy can hardly feel the doorknob digging into his back, and when Alfie slides his thigh between Tommy’s legs, the discomfort is all but forgotten.

“Bloody insatiable,” Alfie whispers darkly into Tommy’s neck.

Tommy answers with the soft press of nails to Alfie’s scalp. And then a sighed, “Fuck off,” uttered with all the tenderness of adoration.

His head drops to the side when he feels blunt teeth against the thin flesh over his pulse point. There’s a little pinch that has Tommy wriggling against Alfie’s leg, seeking as much friction as their awkward position and clothing will allow. Then there’s tongue and brutal suction, which Tommy can’t bring himself to care about.

For the last three days, they’ve been—among other things—necking like sixth formers, leaving a spattering of love bites all over one another. Fleetingly, Tommy thinks Alfie’s _already_ left a mark in this spot, but maybe the bruise has faded a bit in the five hours since Alfie left. And that just won’t do, not with them staring down the barrel of a nine-month deployment.

“Fuckin’” Alfie pants. “…not enough—"

Something inside Tommy’s chests twists into an ugly, painful knot, and he silences Alfie with hands to face and lips to lips.

Tommy doesn’t want to hear it. Though they haven’t dared confess as much, Tommy knows they’ve both been counting down the minutes they have left together since Alfie came to port last month. It’s how it’s always gone, maybe since the beginning.

And it _shouldn’t_ be that way because they both agreed at the outset that commitment wasn’t likely in the cards. Simpler that way, really. No hurt feelings. But there were— _feelings_. Eventually.

Tommy’d been driven to distraction the week leading up to Alfie’s arrival back in Plymouth that first time. He could hardly sleep the night before, pacing barefoot around his flat as he thumbed through every message and email they’d exchanged in the months prior. Tommy had tried to divine an answer to the soul crushing question that haunted even a moment’s respite: would Alfie even _want_ to see him? (And maybe, though he’d never admit it, not to _anyone_ and barely to himself: did Alfie have someone?)

Alfie did (and he didn’t). Three weeks of easy camaraderie followed, of evenings spent at the pub over a few pints and nights filled with hungry sex and intermittent sleep. They’d carried on like that each time Alfie came to port, going on three years now. And despite the promise of no strings, Tommy had found himself with the weight of a noose about his neck. Each goodbye a little harder, a little more drawn out. Each arrival a little sweeter, a little more thought out. It made him feel a bit pathetic.

(Even more so when Ada asked after his “port boyfriend,” when Arthur huffed and told him he’d not given his blessing yet, when John laughed and said he’d made Alfie up to keep Pol from match-making, when Finn wondered how boys “did it” together anyway.)

And this one— _this_ time—it feels like the roughest yet.

“Less than…two…bleedin’…hours, Tom,” Alfie says, words punctuated by the frantic pressure of Tommy’s sloppy kisses.

“It’s fine,” Tommy mouths against the puffy, pink swell of Alfie’s lips. “Still time.”

Alfie groans at that, and then picks Tommy up in a way that’s become all too familiar. At first, Tommy hadn’t been sure about fucking around with a guy who could manhandle him the way Alfie could. But he’d come around to the idea the first time Alfie had pinned him down on the bed, the soft puppy eyes and carefully whispered, “is this alright?” belying the tight grip around his wrists.

Head spinning a little from Alfie’s grip on his arse, Tommy wraps his legs around Alfie’s waist and hangs on. Alfie starts towards the sofa, but Tommy’s disapproving grunt sends him towards the bedroom. There’s more room there and better support. Tommy had bought a new mattress during the last leave; he’d spent enough time on his hands and knees getting plowed to know the springs were straining.

At the edge of the bed, Alfie releases him. Tommy’s quick to shove Alfie until he sits and Tommy can climb onto him. He winds his arms around Alfie’s neck, fingers lightly massaging his nape in the way that always makes Alfie shut his eyes and tip his head back. Smirking, he marvels at the power of his touch.

Carefully, Tommy rolls his hips, watching with rapt attention as Alfie’s nostrils flare when their cocks meet. The inhale is sharp, but the exhale an unsteady thing that has Tommy biting his own bottom lip to keep from moaning.

He brushes Alfie’s cheekbone with his thumb. Alfie opens his eyes, the dark, stormy-blue hue tugging at something inside Tommy. He quashes it as best he can, too aware that it’ll bubble up and make him say something terrible. Something dangerously close to _sentimental._ Or worse. And that won’t do, not now with Alfie leaving and having months on a ship to worry it.

“’m glad you never enlisted,” Alfie says softly. “Wouldn’t get anythin’ done, would I?”

“Mm, I don’t know about that. I think I’d get done.”

“Yeah, well, if only Her Majesty gave a medal for one’s extreme devotion to fuckin’ his junior officer.”

Tommy laughs; he can’t help it. “That would be an abuse of power, Captain.”

“One look at your arse,” Alfie says, grabbing a handful and making Tommy squawk, “and they’d give me another honour for demonstratin’ immense restraint, right, on account of my not takin’ you in front of the whole bloody ship.”

Tommy’s brain goes a bit fuzzy at that, and he can only think to answer it with a kiss. Slower this time, no teeth or tongue or spit. They linger, and it’s like the farewell kiss they’ve shared three different times already in the past twenty-four hours, each time making up more contrived reasons to meet again. Except each of those times, one of them had left and given space for whatever it was that had manifested when their lips met. This time there is barely enough room to breathe.

It feels as if his body is ready to betray him even if his mouth doesn’t, like Alfie will _know_ when he feels the tremble of Tommy’s outstretched fingers against his neck. But Alfie spares him the embarrassment with a squeeze, tilting Tommy’s hips to an angle that has them both momentarily forgetting their names.

And Tommy, he appreciates that—the forgetting. Appreciates the ability to focus on nothing except for the promising rub of Alfie’s cock against his arse and the drag of his own cock alongside Alfie’s stomach. But it’s not quite enough, he realises, when a bit of his blood manages to pump upwards into his brain. The clothing between them offers too plush a barrier. He wants the coarse hair, the bulky muscles, the hot skin to rut against. He wants to mark Alfie’s skin with his cum too—the bruises not enough—and keep him hostage until Alfie doesn’t have enough time to shower before reporting to base.

A bit mad with it now, Tommy grabs blindly for Alfie’s hand and pushes it into his joggers. The cool metal of Alfie’s rings makes him hiss, but it’s the stiff cords and smooth leather of the bracelets that, combined with Alfie’s calloused skin, have Tommy shutting his eyes and bucking up.

“That what you need, sweetheart?” Alfie asks, playing at control, but his voice betraying him.

“No, not quite.”

He fumbles for the hem of Alfie’s hoodie. When his fingers finally find the skin he’s been so eager for, Tommy moans and scratches. Whether it’s the noise Tommy makes or the feeling of his nails that cause it, Tommy can’t say, but Alfie’s belly jumps beneath his touch.

Tommy _wants_.

When Tommy shoves the hoodie up, it gets caught around Alfie’s chest, what with his hand in Tommy’s pants. But Alfie takes the hint, and Tommy’s peeling it the rest of the way off. As he tugs it over Alfie’s head, Tommy’s struck by the wave of scent released as the thing turns inside out. It’s all stale cologne and weeks of unwashed jersey and clove from the spiced rums he and his mate Ollie brew when he’s on leave. Tommy’s not even sure that it’s necessarily a good smell, but his stomach turns queasy with the thought of being without it.

With care that belies all the urgency in his veins, he places the hoodie next to Alfie’s thick thigh on the duvet. His hands roam across the planes of Alfie’s chest, his shoulders, his upper arms, his back. When Tommy reaches the flesh beneath his left shoulder blade, Alfie hisses and twists away. The new ink he got yesterday—the one he won’t let Tommy see yet. Tommy doesn’t push it; Alfie will show him when he’s ready.

(It’ll be something awful, he knows. Alfie’s not about to cultivate a little taste some-fifteen tattoos in).

And it’s fine really because Alfie’s shifting around in Tommy’s joggers anyway, grabbing his arse and lifting him up so that he can slide the fabric off Tommy’s hips. But it’s a struggle. Sighing, Tommy stands to speed the whole process along. He pulls Alfie up with him by the waist of his jeans and makes quick work of his belt and zip.

Kneeling, Tommy follows the slide of denim and cotton down Alfie’s legs while Alfie strips off his shirt. Where normally he would tease and nuzzle at Alfie’s bollocks, run nails down strong thighs and place filthy kisses into the blonde-brown hairs around Alfie’s cock, Tommy doesn’t now. There’s not time for that, not when he’s desperate to have Alfie stretching him open for as long as possible.

He shoves lightly at Alfie, who steps out of the clothes and crawls across the bed. Tommy can hear the slide of the drawer, the fumble for slick and a rubber. And in a heartbeat, he makes a decision.

The soft jersey of Alfie’s hoodie is in hand before he can think better of it, ending up in the dirty laundry basket while Alfie’s otherwise occupied. Hastily, Tommy tosses a few of his own things over the top. Hopefully, Alfie won’t notice him for the thief that he is.


End file.
